


bigger than we ever dreamed

by slightlytookish



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Domestic, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Kissing, Living Together, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 10:41:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3324548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlytookish/pseuds/slightlytookish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The street is deserted aside from a stray cat darting across the road. "No one's here yet," Grantaire says. He flops onto the sofa next to Enjolras and nudges one of the mugs in his direction. "Which isn't really surprising. Most people don't even realise we know each other."</p><p>For some reason that makes Enjolras blush and hide his face in his coffee.</p><p>"Oh, I see how it is," Grantaire says, holding his hand over his heart in mock despair. "Of course the mighty Apollo would never descend from Mount Olympus just for the pleasure of my company – not I, only a mere mortal, a puny creature best kept to the shadows of your glorious light –"</p><p>(In which crown prince Enjolras removes himself from the line of succession and Grantaire offers to let him stay at his flat until the media firestorm is over. It's either the best decision of Grantaire's life or his worst mistake ever).</p>
            </blockquote>





	bigger than we ever dreamed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iamslytherlocked](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamslytherlocked/gifts).



> Written for iamslytherlocked's Royal AU prompt. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thank you so much to P for encouraging, enabling, helping, and handholding!

Something is ringing. It might be his alarm, it might be his phone, but Grantaire doesn't care enough to check as he throws out a hand and blindly knocks everything on his bedside table onto the floor in hopes that whatever it is will shut up. It works, and in the silence that follows he burrows his face into the pillow with a satisfied sigh.

That's when his doorbell rings. 

"What the actual fuck?" he mumbles. His pillow doesn't answer, but his phone beeps three times in a row, and when Grantaire reaches down for it, fingers scrabbling on the floor, he sees that it's just after 3:00 AM and he has 25 missed calls, 87 texts, and 4 voicemails. He stares blankly at the display for a long moment, bleary-eyed and wondering what the hell is happening, and has his thumb poised over Joly's name to call him back when his doorbell rings again.

It's the long, steady ring of the desperate. Grantaire's rung doorbells like that before, when he was almost too drunk to stand and just wanted a sofa to crash on. It's the sound of a doorbell that's not going to stop ringing until someone responds, and so he heaves himself out of bed with a sigh, phone still in his hand, and flings open the front door.

Standing in the dim hallway is Enjolras, looking remarkably awake and immaculately groomed despite the ridiculously early hour, which isn't entirely surprising since Grantaire has never been absolutely certain that Enjolras actually requires the little things in life that most people need to survive, like sleep and food. He's also frowning, which isn't surprising either since that's typically his default expression when it comes to Grantaire.

"Why did you open the door?" he demands.

It's really too early for Grantaire to deal with this. "Were you ringing the doorbell?" he says, stifling a yawn.

Enjolras gives him an unimpressed look. "Do you see anyone else here?"

"No," Grantaire admits, which is interesting. His eyes sweep up and down the empty hallway as he steps aside to let Enjolras into his flat, closing the door behind them. "So… were you ringing it for fun, then? Or did you expect someone else to answer it? If you were, I'm terribly sorry to disappoint you with my presence."

"Of course not," Enjolras snaps. "But you need to be more careful. You really should check and see who it is first. I could have been anyone." 

Grantaire snorts. "Pretty sure no one wishing to do me harm would waste time ringing the doorbell. What are you doing here anyway?" He could count on one finger the number of times that Enjolras has been anywhere near his flat, and that was when Combeferre drove Grantaire home one night after a meeting. The weather had been terrible, a windy, freezing rain that made visibility poor enough for Grantaire to accept a lift for once. Enjolras had been in the passenger seat at the time, and Grantaire has no idea how he even remembered the way to Grantaire's place. 

The frown falls away from Enjolras' face, and he immediately transforms into what Grantaire secretly calls the avenging angel mode. His eyes are shining and there's a quiet sense of joy radiating from him, the same sense of contained but confident exuberance that he displays whenever he talks about the future at their meetings. Grantaire has no idea what could be causing Enjolras to look like that right now but it makes his heart clench like it always does. 

"Would you mind turning on the TV?" Enjolras says carefully. Enjolras never says anything carefully so Grantaire is immediately suspicious, but he looks for the remote anyway. 

Two reporters come into focus, their voices sounding hyper and high-pitched, but what captures Grantaire's attention is the news ticker at the bottom of the screen.

BREAKING NEWS: CROWN PRINCE STEPS DOWN… ENJOLRAS RENOUNCES MONARCHY, FLEES PALACE… FORMAL STATEMENT EXPECTED FROM ROYAL FAMILY WITHIN THE HOUR… ENJOLRAS "WISHES TO REMOVE HIMSELF FROM THE LINE OF SUCCESSION, EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY"… A SPOKESPERSON FOR THE PALACE "BEGS FOR PRIVACY DURING THIS DIFFICULT TIME"…

The ticker cycles around three times before Grantaire is able to pick up his jaw from the ground. 

"I need coffee," he says, rubbing at his eyes. He can feel a headache building behind them, probably a migraine. It feels like a migraine sort of day, even though he's only been awake for about fifteen minutes. "And a shower. And… more coffee. Lots of coffee. Actually, I'm not sure if there's enough coffee in the world to deal with this."

All of the avenging angel light has gone out of Enjolras. He looks pale and tired, and Grantaire notices for the first time that he's wearing his old red backpack, the same one he used to wear at university. It makes Enjolras look almost painfully young and vulnerable, and it makes Grantaire's heart clench again, because he's nothing if not sad and ridiculous and predictable.

"Do you still take your coffee black?" he says gruffly, even though he already knows the answer.

"Yes," Enjolras says, his voice uncharacteristically small, and Grantaire feels like the worst human ever. 

"Just give me ten minutes," he says, taking Enjolras by the elbow and gently steering him to the sofa. The fact that Enjolras goes unresistingly makes Grantaire feel even more wretched. "Sit. Relax. Do you… you probably didn't take your mobile with you, did you?"

Enjolras shakes his head. "I left my laptop and tablet behind too. I didn't want to give them any way to trace my location."

"I haven’t had a chance to read those texts but they're probably all about you," Grantaire says, handing over his phone. "And you probably want to talk to Courfeyrac and Combeferre and whoever so… feel free to use mine. At least text them and let them know you're not dead in a ditch somewhere."

"Thanks," Enjolras says, staring down at the phone.

"Ten minutes," Grantaire says again, but instead of leaving he rests his hand on Enjolras' shoulder. 

Enjolras' head jerks up in surprise and Grantaire offers him the best encouraging smile he can muster on roughly two hours of sleep and with the knowledge that he has a newly-abdicated crown prince hiding in his living room. "Don't worry. Everything will be okay."

Grantaire's never considered himself an optimistic person but somehow he must sound convincing, because Enjolras' answering smile follows him out of the room.

*

Grantaire returns to the living room still damp from his shower and with a mug of coffee in each hand, feeling a little more human already. He half expects Enjolras to be gone, for it all to have been some kind of weird hallucination caused by exhaustion but no, Enjolras is just where he left him, sitting very straight on the sofa with the television still turned to the news. 

There's a reporter on now, babbling excitedly about the "shocking rumours" about a "secret revolutionary society" that Enjolras formed at university, but Enjolras doesn't seem to be paying her much attention. Grantaire's phone is still in his hand and when Grantaire raises a questioning eyebrow, Enjolras nods. "I texted Combeferre and Courfeyrac. They know I'm okay, and will tell the others." He frowns unhappily. "They said there are reporters camped outside of their building. Outside of Marius' house too, and most of the others have had phone calls and tweets from the press already, asking for a statement."

Grantaire sets the mugs down on the coffee table and peeks out of the window. The street is deserted aside from a stray cat darting across the road. "No one's here yet," he says. He flops onto the sofa next to Enjolras and nudges one of the mugs in his direction. "Which isn't really surprising. Most people don't even realise we know each other." 

For some reason that makes Enjolras blush and hide his face in his coffee.

"Oh, I see how it is," Grantaire says, holding his hand over his heart in mock despair. "Of course the mighty Apollo would never descend from Mount Olympus just for the pleasure of my company – not I, only a mere mortal, a puny creature best kept to the shadows of your glorious light –"

"Stop it," Enjolras said, his cheeks even redder than before. "You know I don't like it when you say things like that."

"Yes, my liege," says Grantaire, giving the best exaggerated bow he can manage with a coffee in his hand.

"Not your liege anymore," Enjolras replies, with a grin that suddenly makes Grantaire's heart beat faster. "But you're right. I did come here because I hoped it would be a place where no one would think to look for me." 

He gives Grantaire an apologetic look but Grantaire just shrugs because it's the truth – the paparazzi have never photographed him with Enjolras, and his name has never appeared in the gossip columns. The others have; Combeferre and Courfeyrac, of course, since the three of them have known each other since they were children, but the others too, even though they (like Grantaire) only met Enjolras at university. But for some reason Grantaire has always managed to fly under the radar; even when he's been at the same places or events as Enjolras, somehow he's never managed to make it into the tabloids. It doesn't bother him, but he wasn't joking about being kept to the shadows, either. 

"I don't want to be a nuisance to you," Enjolras says. "I just didn't know where to go. Would you mind if I stay here for an hour or so, just until I find somewhere else to stay? A hotel would probably be the best place. I wouldn't bother anyone there."

"Don't be ridiculous," Grantaire says. "The minute you check into a hotel you'll have the paparazzi swarming the place. You can stay here for a few days. Or even for more than a few days, whatever. I don't mind."

"I don't want to impose," Enjolras says, looking uncertain. 

"You won't," Grantaire replies. "This is a sofa bed. I'll stay here, and you can have my bed."

"I'm not taking your bed," Enjolras says.

"Fine, we'll share," Grantaire says, waggling his eyebrows until Enjolras rolls his eyes. It feels just like any of their normal conversations except for the fact that he and Enjolras are _figuring out the logistics of living together_ , and Grantaire is either making the best decision of his life or the worst mistake ever.

Nonetheless, he plunges on. "Look," he says. "It's a total media shitstorm right now but somehow you managed to make it here without anyone finding out. Stay here for a bit until it all dies down. I have the space, and I'll be at the gallery most afternoons so I'll be out of your hair. You'll be safe and have some time to deal with all of this crap without any reporters breathing down your neck, and our friends won't kill my phone because they're panicking about your whereabouts. What do you say?"

Enjolras considers it for so long that Grantaire is sure he's going to say no. "Only if I get the sofa," he says at last, because Enjolras is nothing if not stubborn.

Grantaire releases a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Deal."

* 

The fact that Grantaire is almost more astonished by the sight of Enjolras in his kitchen and cooking them breakfast, rather than the whole abdication thing, probably says a lot about the morning he's having.

When he tells this to Enjolras, though, he's met with a frown. "Believe it or not, I've managed to learn a few basic life skills," he says, moodily poking at the eggs with a spatula. "And I'm not really abdicating since I'm not the king."

Grantaire waits until after they've finished eating (he tries not to act too surprised that the eggs are actually edible, since Enjolras is still looking a little offended) before he broaches the subject. 

"You don't have to answer this if you don't want to," he says, casually shredding the edge of a paper napkin so that he doesn't have to look at Enjolras. "But… did something happen? With your parents or… I don't know, with someone in the government? What made you leave?" 

Enjolras doesn't reply right away, but when Grantaire dares to glance up he doesn't seem angry or annoyed by the question. "I was always going to leave," he says eventually. "I think I knew that even before I knew _why_ I'd leave, if that makes sense." 

Grantaire has so many questions he'd like to ask but he forces himself to keep quiet; Enjolras is typically a very reticent person but it seems like he's going to confide in Grantaire for the first time ever and there's no way he's going to scare off Enjolras now. 

"I've always been against the idea of monarchy, as soon as I was aware of what it was. The idea that my family and I were 'special' and should live privileged lives… it never sat right with me, even when I was a very small child. Those feelings grew over time, especially when I met all of you. Did you know," he says, and Grantaire is absolutely mesmerised by the hint of a smile on Enjolras' face, "My parents found out about Les Amis in my first year of university? They assumed it was a French language club and I didn't correct them."

"Good move," Grantaire says. Enjolras shrugs.

"It let me bide some more time but then I started wondering – what am I waiting for? I think part of it was that I was so comfortable at university. I had my friends and the Les Amis meetings, and I felt that we were truly working towards something good, towards making some positive changes in this country and in the world. I had plenty of privacy too – you know that the press agreed to leave me alone when I was at university, and they were generally quite good about it. But then we all left university and… nothing changed. It was as if everything we'd talked about and planned was – not forgotten, but pushed aside. I was expected to resume my royal duties. To take on more of them, in fact, even the ones I didn't wish to partake in, that go against everything I stand for. And I couldn't in good conscience continue to live a life that I abhor."

"So you decided to leave."

Enjolras nods. "Since leaving university that agreement with the press ended, and I've been in the public eye more than ever during this past year. My every move has been scrutinised and I suppose I thought – well, they want a story, and I want to make a change, so I'll just…"

"Release a statement to every major newspaper in the country in the middle of the night saying that you disagree with the concept of monarchy, want to give up your place in the line of succession, and plan to devote the rest of your life to fighting to change the constitutional monarchy to a republic," Grantaire helpfully supplies, because the news has repeated the course of events at least fifty times in the past hour. 

"Yes," Enjolras says, and the amount of conviction that he can put into one word is really very impressive. "Though in retrospect I should have warned all of you. I didn't mean to worry anyone, least of all my friends." 

The fact that he looks troubled by this, far more troubled than he did when he was talking about turning his back on his family and the only life he's ever known, is incredibly endearing but also kind of scary. Grantaire doesn't know if he'd have the same courage but it's not like he'll ever need to find out, not being the crown prince and all.

"Hey," he says. His hand makes an aborted twitching movement as if it's going to reach for Enjolras' own but that feels too intimate somehow, so Grantaire goes back to turning his napkin into confetti. "I'm only going to say this once because you probably don't want to hear it, but I really don't want you to interrupt me because I think you _need_ to hear it. All right?"

He waits for Enjolras to give him a perplexed-looking nod before continuing. "I know I give you a lot of crap sometimes – okay, fine, all the time – and disrupt your meetings and mock the things you say but… oh my god, this is so awkward, this is why I prefer sarcasm… right, _anyway_ , I suppose I just wanted to say that I've always believed in you. Even when I act like I don't. And you already know that the others do too, because they're not rude bastards like me, and I'm just trying to say that we're not going anywhere. No matter how many dramatic I'm-escaping-the-castle-before-midnight-or-else-I'll-turn-into-a-grumpy-pumpkin stunts you pull. Annnnd that's enough sentimental bullshit for one day. More coffee?" 

He grabs their mugs before Enjolras has a chance to respond, but when he risks a glance at Enjolras' face he looks amused. "A grumpy pumpkin?"

"Of course that's the one thing that would stand out to you," Grantaire grumbles, but when he returns with their coffees Enjolras is still smiling.

"Thank you," he says quietly, and from the way Enjolras says it, it sounds like he's thanking Grantaire for more than just another coffee. 

*

The news is irritatingly repetitive and the way they keep switching from footage of the palace to shots of reporters gathering outside of their friends' homes is clearly upsetting Enjolras. Most of their friends are ignoring the attention – there's a clip of Feuilly heading to work, trailed by nearly a dozen reporters even though he says, "No comment, sorry," that makes Enjolras ball his hands into fists until his knuckles turn white every time they show it, which is often – but Marius is the only one that comes out to talk to them, looking utterly bewildered by the presence of reporters in his front garden. 

"May I help you? Oh no, Enjolras wouldn't come and stay with me… Yes, we are very distantly related. I believe my mother and his mother are fifth cousins, though I'm not entirely certain, sorry… Well, no, he isn't here, like I said. I think I just annoy him most of the time, to be honest…"

Enjolras has his face buried in his hands and is making noises that sound suspiciously like "MARIUS WHYYYY?" when Grantaire decides that it's time to turn off the TV. 

"Want to skype Combeferre and Courfeyrac?" he offers, casting about for something to do.

That makes Enjolras brighten up considerably, at least until Courfeyrac accepts their call and immediately launches into the chorus of "Royals."

Enjolras quickly disconnects the call, scowling, and refuses to acknowledge Courfeyrac when he tries to ring him back. The look of betrayal on Enjolras' face only grows when Grantaire reaches over him to accept the call.

Courfeyrac's still singing when he appears onscreen. "…And baby I'll rule, I'll rule, I'll rule, I'll rule. Let me live that fantasy." When he sees Enjolras and Grantaire his face lights up. "Don't look so annoyed, Enjolras, you'll always be the queen bee to me! Hey Grantaire, is your new flatmate behaving himself?" 

"So far, so good. I've had worse," Grantaire replies. "This new guy made me breakfast." Courfeyrac whistles in surprise.

"Are you sure that's actually Enjolras?" he says, leaning towards the camera as if by doing so he could inspect Enjolras more closely. "Because he's never cooked anything for us."

"Not once in more than ten years of friendship," says Combeferre, his face popping into the frame along side Courfeyrac's. His expression is serious but behind his glasses his eyes are twinkling merrily. "Are you sure he isn't a decoy?"

"Please tell me you're not watching Star Wars again," Enjolras says disapprovingly, but he's smiling and looks more relaxed than Grantaire's seen him since he arrived that morning. He feels a pang knowing that it has nothing to do with him and everything to do with Enjolras seeing his best friends again, but he quickly pushes that thought aside. He should probably give them some time to catch up, he thinks suddenly, and gets to his feet. 

"I'm going out for a bit. No, stay, it's fine," he says, when Enjolras looks at him in alarm. "It's just, you probably noticed this morning that I'm not exactly prepared for company. We finished the eggs, and the only other things I have in the fridge are beer and mustard."

"You're exaggerating. I think I saw a jar of olives behind the mustard," Enjolras says. The smile he gives Grantaire is soft and amused, and Grantaire is certain that he's never seen Enjolras smile at him like that before. It's strange and a little unsettling and Grantaire has no idea what to do with it so he busies himself with putting on his jacket.

"Any requests? Food allergies or special dietary things I should know about? What does he eat, anyway?" he asks, coming back over to the laptop in order to direct the last question to Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

"You could ask me, you know, because I'm _right here_ ," Enjolras complains, but Grantaire ignores him in favour of the list of favourite food items that Combeferre and Courfeyrac instantly rattle off.

"I think that's good for now, thanks," Grantaire says, tucking his mobile and wallet into his pockets and waving away Enjolras' offer of money. "You'll be okay by yourself for a bit, right? Help yourself to anything you want; there's tea in the cupboard if you're tired of coffee." He waves at Enjolras and at the laptop for Courfeyrac and Combeferre's benefit, and heads for the door.

He thinks he's doing okay with this whole situation, but he doesn't even make it to the lobby of his building before he rings Joly. "What the fuck am I doing?" he hisses into the phone as soon as Joly picks up.

"A very good morning to you, too," Joly says, sounding unbearably cheerful. "Hang on, Musichetta and Bossuet want to say hello."

" _Save me_ ," Grantaire begs once he knows he's on speakerphone. 

His friends just laugh at him, because they're the worst, but once they've all calmed down Musichetta says, "Is it really awful, though? Because if it gets to be too much you know you could always come and stay with us, right? Enjolras will just have to manage on his own." 

"No, it's nothing like that," Grantaire assures them. "I mean, I know it hasn't even been a day yet but it's been good so far. He made me breakfast," he adds in a surprised tone, because he still can't believe it happened.

"Keep him," Bossuet immediately says.

"I wish I could," Grantaire says quietly. "That's kind of the problem."

There's a long pause before Joly says, "Yeah, we know." Musichetta hums sympathetically.

Grantaire sighs. "I'm doomed, aren't I?" 

"Yes," the three of them say at once, and they sound so sure of themselves that Grantaire can only sigh again.

* 

When Grantaire returns home he finds Enjolras curled up on the sofa, fast asleep. Grantaire's laptop is on the coffee table in front of him, still open but with the screen dark from idleness, and Grantaire wonders if Enjolras fell asleep in the middle of skyping Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Whatever's happened, he looks peaceful now; his brow is smooth and his lips are parted slightly in sleep, and he doesn't stir when Grantaire tucks a blanket around him before tiptoeing back to the kitchen to put away the food.

Enjolras sleeps through lunch (a sandwich, because Grantaire doesn't want to wake him by clattering around in the kitchen) and through most of the afternoon as well. Grantaire knows he should nap too but after everything that's happened he's feeling far too hyper to even attempt it. Instead he spends his time catching up on the news and his friends' texts, both of which are still going strong – apparently the palace released a statement that Enjolras is safe and staying in an undisclosed location, which has only increased the media interest in their friends as they speculate where he could be hiding. Grantaire's street is still blissfully quiet, though, and the sense of relief he feels when he peeks out of the window to confirm that is staggering.

Convinced that Enjolras really is going to stay with him, Grantaire quietly putters around, making the flat ready for him. There isn't much to do – it isn't that big and he doesn't have a lot of stuff aside from his books and art supplies, but he tries to tidy everything anyway, even though he doesn't have much storage space and Enjolras has already seen the cluttered corners of his living room and kitchen. But he finds some sheets and pillows for the sofa and sets out some towels in the bathroom because Enjolras will probably want a shower whenever he wakes.

He's in his bedroom, going through his wardrobe when Enjolras suddenly appears in the doorway. He looks warm and sleepy and there's a crease on his cheek from where one of the sofa cushions dug in, and Grantaire has to look away after a moment before he does something stupid like bound across the room and kiss him into full wakefulness.

"We mustn't lurk in doorways. It's rude," he says, going back to sorting through his clothes.

"Are you quoting The Little Mermaid at me?" Enjolras asks around an enormous yawn, but he comes inside anyway and sits on the bed next to Grantaire.

"I can't decide if I should be amused or disturbed that you can quote Disney movies off the top of your head when you've just woken up," Grantaire replies truthfully.

Enjolras shrugs a shoulder and says, "Courfeyrac." Grantaire supposes that's meant to explain everything and in a way, it does.

"So, um, I was wondering if you needed clothes? I wasn't sure what you packed so I've been putting aside some of my things that should fit you, just in case," Grantaire says, indicating the steadily growing pile on the bed. 

Enjolras looks startled. "Thank you," he says quietly. He plucks a t-shirt from the pile, an old blue one that's soft and pale after many washes, and turns it over in his hands. "Really, thank you. For letting me stay and going along with all of this and for – for everything, really."

"It's not a problem," Grantaire says. "You don't have to keep thanking me."

"Yes, I do," Enjolras replies, because he's always been stubborn, but he's smiling in that strange soft way again and Grantaire still isn't sure what to do with that, so he stands and scoops up some of the clothes on the bed and starts piling them into a drawer. 

"I cleared out this one for you," he says over his shoulder. "If you're still insisting on sleeping on the sofa –" Enjolras' nod confirms this "– then feel free to come in here whenever you need to get something. There's a bit of room left in the drawer if you want to unpack your bag later, too. Now, would you like the grand tour?"

The grand tour consists of showing Enjolras the narrow cupboard in the hallway where he keeps his sheets and towels, and the bathroom, since Enjolras has already seen the rest of his home. Grantaire leaves him in the bathroom to take a shower, and determinedly starts cooking dinner so he won't have to think about the fact that there's a wet and naked Enjolras in his flat at this very moment. 

It works well until Enjolras shows up with a miniscule towel wrapped around his waist (and honestly, Grantaire owns larger towels than that, so this is just _cruel_ ), damp and pink and wondering if he wants any help making dinner. Grantaire manages to shoo him away to get dressed without saying something thoroughly humiliating, but as soon as Enjolras is gone Grantaire takes a moment to sag against the fridge and until his heart decides to calm down and not beat its way out of his chest. 

He is so, so doomed.

*

They settle into a routine after that first day, and the fact that they have a routine is just as weird to Grantaire as Enjolras' presence in the first place. He's left with very little to complain about though, aside from sudden appearances of Enjolras' bare chest (because he apparently doesn't believe in wearing shirts before noon, much to Grantaire's distress). 

But with the exception of that, Enjolras proves to be a better flatmate than Grantaire ever would have expected. He's mostly quiet, except when he's ranting about injustice, and he seems very intent on keeping out of Grantaire's way and not giving him anything more to do. Most days Enjolras works on things that Combeferre and Courfeyrac send him – all Les Amis business, all the things they spoke and dreamed about in university that now have a good chance of becoming reality. Grantaire often leaves the flat with Enjolras hunched over his laptop with a mug of coffee at his elbow, typing furiously and skyping with Combeferre or Courfeyrac as they strategize and build up their arguments, breaking off only to give Grantaire a distracted wave goodbye over his shoulder. 

But then Grantaire will come home from the gallery and find the laptop put away and Enjolras in the kitchen, making a salad or boiling pasta for their dinner, and it's bizarre, absolutely bonkers really, but it's also – nice. Really nice. And Grantaire is terrified of getting too used to it. 

* 

"What are you working on?" Enjolras asks one evening when they're sitting together on the sofa, because apparently that is a thing they do now. Sometimes they'll watch a film or skype their friends but tonight Enjolras is reading one of Grantaire's books – _Good Omens_ , Grantaire notes, stealing a glance at the battered cover – and Grantaire has his sketchbook open on his knees. 

"I have a couple of commissions that I'm trying to figure out," he replies, because much to Grantaire's eternal shock he's actually managed to achieve some artistic success in recent years, enough for people to commission pieces from him and for him to have a tiny but surprisingly profitable gallery. "I'm doing a few preliminary sketches, just to sort out my ideas and see what works and what doesn't."

"May I see?" 

"Wow, you must be really bored," Grantaire says, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice because even though they're basically living together now he still doesn't know how to respond to Enjolras like a normal person.

Enjolras, never one to let things go, closes his book and sets it aside with a frown. "Why do you always say things like that? Maybe I'm interested in seeing your work."

"It's not like you've ever been very interested before," Grantaire replies, and immediately feels guilty when Enjolras' face falls. The worst part is that it isn't even true; sure, Enjolras doesn't randomly drop in to visit his gallery the way some of their friends do, but he's asked Grantaire to design posters or t-shirts before, both for Les Amis functions and for some of his more high-profile, royal-family-endorsed charity work, and has always been very complimentary of Grantaire's efforts and grateful for his help. "Sorry, I'm being a dick. I had a meeting with one of my clients today and now I'm feeling anxious about the painting she commissioned, and I took it out on you."

For a long moment Enjolras still looks unhappy, but then his expression shifts into something that resembles concern. "Is it something that you would like to discuss?"

"Not really," Grantaire admits. "It happens with every commission; I'll be fine once I settle on an idea and start working. It's nothing to worry about. Do you still want to see some sketches?"

The look Enjolras gives him is annoyingly perceptive, but he goes along with Grantaire's obvious attempt to change the subject. "Of course."

Grantaire tries not to hold his breath as Enjolras looks through the pages. There's not much for him to see in terms of the two new commissions, because most of that is still in Grantaire's head, but the little smiles that keep flickering across Enjolras' face as he flips through the book, often stopping to look at certain drawings more closely, make Grantaire relax and smile too. 

"Oh," Enjolras says, sounding startled as he turns to one of the earliest sketches. His hand, already raised to turn to the next page, drops to his side forgotten as he stares down at the drawing. 

Grantaire peers over his shoulder and sees an old unfinished sketch, the background nothing more than a few squiggly lines and a bit of shading. But in the foreground are all of their friends, Enjolras in the middle with Combeferre and Courfeyrac on either side and the others filling in spaces across the rest of the page. Grantaire even drew himself in this one, something that he rarely does, a small figure tucked into the corner of the page, grinning at something that Bossuet's said. 

"I think this was our last Les Amis meeting at university. Either that or half of our friends were wearing party hats just for the hell of it." Grantaire thinks for a moment, trying to remember, before shaking his head. "The fact that I can't tell for sure says a lot about our friends."

Enjolras laughs. "Whatever it's from, it's definitely my favourite piece of yours," he says, and Grantaire can only blink at him because it's just a sketch, and an incomplete one at that. "Would you be able to scan it, or take a photo and send it to me? If you don't mind, of course. I'd really love to have a copy of my own."

"Tell you what," Grantaire says slowly, because no matter how much success he's had lately in the art world he still can't believe it when people actually like his work. The fact that it's Enjolras makes it even more surprising. "Let me clean this up a bit – and uh, you know, actually draw everyone's legs – and then I'll give you the sketch."

"To keep?" 

Grantaire grins. "I'll frame it for you and everything. You could hang it up in your new flat, wherever that will be."

"Thank you," Enjolras says. His eyes are shining so brightly that Grantaire has to look away from them. "You have a wonderful talent, you know. I've never been able to draw anything. Little stick people are about all I can manage."

"I'll teach you," Grantaire says jokingly, because there's no way that Enjolras will ever agree to it. 

Only Enjolras turns to him and says, "Really? I'd like that." And Grantaire nearly falls off the sofa because his life has officially turned ridiculous.

"Um, okay," he says, flipping to a clean page near the back of the sketchbook and handing over his pencil. "What do you want to start with?"

"I have no idea," Enjolras says, looking grimly determined and yet eyeing the pencil as if it's some strange bit of technology that he's never seen before. "I hoped you would have a suggestion."

"How about one of those mugs?" Grantaire offers, nodding to his and Enjolras' teas on the coffee table, both of which have probably gone cold by now from neglect. 

Enjolras narrows his eyes, considering. "All right." 

He draws the mug slowly, methodically, and the end result is a simple but fairly respectable sketch, even if Enjolras knows nothing about shading. Grantaire tries to explain the basics, but after several failed attempts Enjolras grows impatient and hands the sketchbook back to him. "Show me?"

Biting back a smile, Grantaire humours him and adds a bit of shading; not so much, but just enough for Enjolras to see how it works. Enjolras leans closer to watch, and Grantaire can feel the warm weight of him all along his side but he tries not to let it distract him. It mostly works, he thinks, and if Enjolras notices the blush he can feel creeping across his face, he's too polite to say something.

"So, you see, something like that," Grantaire says, finishing up and turning the sketchbook around so that Enjolras can see it properly. "Want to give it a try?"

He doesn't answer right away, and that's when Grantaire makes the mistake of looking up because Enjolras' face is right there, and his eyes are very blue, and since this is the most bizarre week of Grantaire's life they somehow end up kissing. 

The angle is a little weird at first and Grantaire would assume that he's dreaming if his sketchbook weren't crushed between them, the edge of it digging painfully into his thigh. But then Enjolras brushes the sketchbook aside in order to settle his hands on Grantaire's waist, and even though Grantaire still has no idea what's going on that's apparently all the encouragement he needs to deepen the kiss. Enjolras' lips part easily against his own, and when Grantaire gently slides a hand up to tangle in Enjolras' hair he makes a small contented sound that causes Grantaire's heart to beat faster.

When the kiss ends Enjolras is practically sprawled in Grantaire's lap, and all Grantaire can do is bury his face in the crook of Enjolras' neck as he tries to catch his breath.

"Stockholm syndrome," he says once he's breathing a little more normally.

"What?" 

Grantaire sighs and sits up properly, which has the unfortunate effect of causing Enjolras to slide out of his lap, but that's probably a good thing considering the awkwardness of the conversation that's about to follow. "Stockholm syndrome. It's the only way to explain this."

Enjolras' only response is to give him a look of complete and utter incomprehension, which just makes Grantaire sigh again.

"It's okay, really. I get it. You've been cooped up with me for a week now, and, I don't know, maybe you're feeling grateful because I'm letting you stay here? So you thought, right, it's just one kiss, what the hell-"

"Grantaire," Enjolras says slowly. "I don't have Stockholm syndrome. I kissed you because I _wanted_ to kiss you."

"I bet that's what everyone with Stockholm syndrome says!" Grantaire counters before Enjolras' words fully sink in. "Wait, what?"

Enjolras suddenly seems very interested in the state of Grantaire's sofa cushions. "I wanted to kiss you," he says again, his cheeks turning pink as he picks at a loose thread. "Does it bother you that I did?"

"Does it – are you seriously asking if I minded kissing you? Did it _seem_ like I minded?"

Enjolras' face flushes even brighter, and Grantaire is going to have to remember this moment because Enjolras has never looked less like his usual confident self. Grantaire would think it's adorable if he weren't so stunned. 

"Well, no," Enjolras replies. "But consent is important and I didn't want to assume anything."

"I'm having a little trouble processing everything right now," Grantaire admits. "But I've wanted to kiss you probably since the first day we met so believe me when I say that I enthusiastically consent to all kisses, both now and in the future."

At this Enjolras finally looks up, looking happier than Grantaire has ever seen him. But he also still seems a little unsure, as if he's worried that Grantaire might change his mind. Which is completely ridiculous, as Grantaire proves when he leans over and kisses Enjolras again. 

Even though he initiates it, Grantaire is still unprepared for the reality of kissing Enjolras. His mind snags on every detail: the slide of Enjolras' lips against his own, the softness of Enjolras' curls underneath his fingers, the warmth of Enjolras' hand against his side, one finger brushing against bare skin when Grantaire's shirt must have ridden up. 

The second kiss leaves Grantaire feeling even more dazed than the first, for different reasons, and maybe that's why when it's over he leans his forehead against Enjolras' and says, "I can't believe you're turning me into Wallis Simpson."

He notices Enjolras giving him an odd look, made even odder because their faces are so close that they're both looking at each other cross-eyed, and rushes to explain. 

"I know, you're not in love with me and you're not abdicating the throne to marry me," Grantaire says, because he really needs to learn how to keep his mouth shut and stop saying stupid things. "And you're not really abdicating either, because you're not the king, you're the crown prince. Or rather, you used to be the crown prince. You know what I mean. "

He's rambling and he knows it, so Grantaire closes his mouth and tries not to cringe. Enjolras has pulled away from him and gone very quiet, and Grantaire waits with his heart in his throat for Enjolras to say something because he doesn't trust himself to speak again, so certain that he's ruined everything already. 

Enjolras clears his throat. "Grantaire, I-" He breaks off suddenly, that look of uncertainty back on his face for a brief moment before he tugs Grantaire into another kiss. 

Grantaire lets himself sink into it, the knot in his stomach slowly unravelling, and he can't help hoping that maybe he hasn't ruined everything after all. 

*

"I was thinking," Grantaire says after they've spent a few days kissing and getting more comfortable around each other while kissing (Grantaire won't speak for Enjolras, but it's certainly taking him time to believe that, yes, this is actually happening, kissing Enjolras is a thing that he does now). "The media frenzy seems to be winding down. You haven't been the top news story in a couple of days, and the reporters are starting to leave our friends alone, too." 

Enjolras has spent the entire afternoon sprawled on the floor, finishing up _Good Omens_ , and it takes him a long moment to drag his eyes away from the book. "Is this your way of politely kicking me out?"

"No!" Grantaire says, because that's the last thing that he wants. "That was my way of leading up to a grand romantic gesture."

"A grand romantic gesture?" Enjolras looks amused, or at least Grantaire thinks he does. It's a little difficult to tell when Enjolras is looking at him sideways from the floor.

"I thought I'd give you fair warning."

"Because it's going to be that spectacular?"

"Because you may or may not want to go along with it," Grantaire says. "And I want you to promise me right now that you'll tell me if you're not comfortable with the idea because it's not like we have to do it. I won't mind, really, it's probably just a stupid thought anyway-"

"You're really selling this," Enjolras says, and he's definitely smiling now. "I feel properly wooed now, thank you."

"Oh, really? That's good. Saves me the trouble of taking you on a picnic, I suppose," Grantaire says but he's grinning too, especially when Enjolras sits up, looking intrigued.

"A picnic?"

"Down the hall there's a door that leads to the roof and I kind of… picked the lock a little while ago?" At Enjolras' raised eyebrow Grantaire shrugs. "Eponine taught me how, don't ask, it's a very long and boring story about the time we were drunk and sad and almost got kicked out of university for breaking into the library one night. _Anyway_ , I picked the lock and I thought we could go up to the roof? And have a picnic there? It seemed like a good way of letting you go outside without drawing any attention. None of the other tenants ever go up there because, you know, the whole locked door thing, so we'll have plenty of privacy. What do you say?"

Enjolras' answer is to reach for Grantaire's hand and tug him down until he's close enough to kiss.

*

Grantaire doesn't have an actual picnic basket, but he has a wicker storage container that's a good substitute and that's what they carry up the stairs just as the sun is starting to set, along with blankets and some pillows from the sofa. Grantaire has to run back downstairs when he realises he's forgotten the candles, and by the time he finds them and the matches and heads back up Enjolras has arranged the blankets and pillows into a comfy-looking nest and is sitting right in the middle, his eyes closed and his face tipped back to catch the last rays of the sun.

It makes Grantaire stop short, seeing him like that; if he thought Enjolras looked like an angel before it's nothing compared to seeing him like this, bathed in golden light. Grantaire wants to paint him like this, and is almost tempted to run back downstairs for his sketchbook.

But then Enjolras opens his eyes and smiles at Grantaire, and the spell is broken. "It's really lovely up here. You should pick the lock more often."

Grantaire grins as he settles down beside him. "Yeah, that old broken ladder over there really adds to the ambiance."

"I meant the view," Enjolras says.

"I like this view better," Grantaire says, because he can't resist. He flings an arm around Enjolras and waggles his eyebrows, and is almost surprised when Enjolras doesn't shrug him off.

Enjolras does groan and hang his head in exaggerated despair, however. "That was terrible, even for you," he says, but he's laughing as he pulls Grantaire into a kiss. The kiss lingers and when it ends, Enjolras lingers too; he stays curled close to Grantaire's side throughout their meal. 

Close enough, in fact, that Grantaire can feel him shivering a little beside him as they finish their meal. "Do you want to go back in?" he asks, because the sun has gone down and there's a breeze picking up, causing the candles to flicker. 

"Not yet," Enjolras says. "I'm happy here." He certainly looks content, with a blanket tucked up to his chin and his head resting on Grantaire's shoulder, and Grantaire can't stop himself from leaning down and kissing him. 

It's meant to be a quick kiss but Enjolras turns it into something longer and deeper than he expected, and there's no way that Grantaire is ever going to say no to that. When it ends Enjolras is looking a little dazed, and he says, "Although if you keep that up, I wouldn't mind going back indoors."

Grantaire has never met a challenge from Enjolras that he didn't like. He swoops down to kiss him again and Enjolras, as always, proves equal to the challenge and kisses him back with the same enthusiasm. He tastes like the strawberries they had for dessert and Grantaire chases that taste into Enjolras' mouth with his tongue, causing Enjolras to make a small sound of approval and press closer to him. 

He can feel the hard line of Enjolras' cock sliding against his hip through the layers of their clothes, and Grantaire loves that but he'd love it even more if they were both naked and in his bed. He only realises that he's saying those words aloud, murmuring them against Enjolras' lips in between kisses when Enjolras' breath catches on a gasp and he snatches his lips away. 

"Actually, you're right, it's getting late," he says, already piling the plates and forks in the wicker container, and Grantaire would think that Enjolras is entirely unaffected if not for the unsteadiness of his voice and the flush on his cheeks that only seems to glow brighter whenever he leans close to one of the candles. Grantaire helps him clean up, trying not to act like he's in a hurry when all he really wants to do is abandon the blankets and pillows on the roof and run downstairs with Enjolras.

Back in his flat, though, any semblance of calm that they managed on the roof vanishes completely as soon as the front door closes behind them. Enjolras takes Grantaire's face in his hands and kisses him until Grantaire's knees actually go weak and he staggers back against the door.

"Do you want to-?" he says, sounding ridiculously out of breath already, and he'd be mortified if Enjolras didn't look just as far gone as he felt. 

Enjolras nods and Grantaire reaches for his hand. He supposes that he leads Enjolras down the short hallway to his bedroom but he has no recollection of it once he's there; it's almost a surprise when they stumble quite literally into his bed.

"Too many clothes," Enjolras says, sounding so disapproving that Grantaire would laugh at him if he weren't tangled in his own t-shirt, struggling to yank it over his head. 

He manages to free himself in time to see Enjolras, shirtless already, reaching for the button on his jeans. Grantaire may or may not make a really embarrassing sound of longing in his throat. 

"Please, let me." He places his hands on Enjolras' waistband almost reverently and searches his face, because deep down Grantaire's still certain that Enjolras is going to call the whole thing off. "Is this okay?"

"Of course," Enjolras says, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. It's a sweet gesture and it calms Grantaire down enough to undress him, at least until Enjolras adds, "But it would be much better if you were naked, too. May I?"

Grantaire's mind whites out around the edges. "You can't say things like that to me," he says after a long and desperate moment during which he tries not to come in his pants. "Not unless you want to kill me. Wait, is that what you're trying to do? Kill me with sex and then take over my flat?"

Enjolras just laughs, and he's still laughing when Grantaire pushes him onto the bed and kisses him. The kiss is long and turns deeper as it goes on, until they reluctantly have to pull away from each other in order to catch their breaths. It gives Grantaire a chance to look at him, an opportunity to marvel at this sight of Enjolras that he never thought he would see, all long limbs and golden hair spilling across the pillows. 

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he blurts, because Enjolras looks and feels amazing in his arms and Grantaire has no idea why he's so lucky. But Enjolras is also the most ridiculous human being he's ever met, because even though they're both naked and he has Grantaire's knee caught between his own and his cock is pressing rather insistently against Grantaire's thigh, being called beautiful makes him blush and look embarrassed. 

"Stop it," he says, rolling Grantaire onto his back. Enjolras' face is still flushed pink but he smirks a little as he shifts forward, causing his and Grantaire's cocks to slide against each other.

"What do you want to do?" Grantaire asks after he does it a few more times, because his hips are trembling against Enjolras' and he's not sure how much longer he'll be able to hold on.

"This is good," Enjolras says, punctuating his words by bucking his hips and making Grantaire moan. His smirk only grows. "Very good, I think. Is it all right if we keep doing this? This time?"

The thought of other times, of other opportunities still to come, makes Grantaire's heart stutter. He drags Enjolras down to kiss him again, more urgently this time as he feels Enjolras' cock sliding against his own. Enjolras' hands are everywhere, skimming Grantaire's shoulders and sides and chest as if he doesn't know where to settle them, and Grantaire breaks the kiss with a choked off groan when he feels Enjolras' fingers finally, _finally_ wrap around his cock. 

Grantaire presses into his hand once, twice, and then he's coming. Enjolras strokes him through it before grabbing Grantaire by the hips and continuing to rock against him, his breath loud and fast beside Grantaire's ear until he comes too, a warm splash between them. 

Enjolras, it turns out, is serious about cuddling. Grantaire never would have expected it – then again, he never would've expected them to have sex either – but after they clean themselves up he's all too happy to let Enjolras shift around until he's comfortable, tucked close against his side with one arm thrown across Grantaire's waist. 

The bed is soft and warm and Grantaire feels like he's going to fall asleep in a minute but he has to ask, just so he won't wake up and be disappointed when he finds Enjolras on the sofa in the morning. "Want to stay? I promise I don't kick."

Enjolras laughs, a quiet huff that ruffles Grantaire's hair. "Not going anywhere," he says, dropping a kiss onto Grantaire's temple that has him smiling as he falls asleep.

*

The sun is shining in Grantaire's face when he wakes. He lies there for a moment, relaxing in the warmth of it against his eyelids and the warmth of Enjolras against his back, and feels himself drifting off again when he hears Enjolras clearing his throat behind him.

"Sorry, I didn't know you were awake," Grantaire says, sitting up to kiss him good morning. He takes one look at Enjolras' grim expression and stops in his tracks. "What's wrong?"

"Your phone was ringing," Enjolras says, and he has it clasped in his hand so tightly that his knuckles are turning white. "You were still asleep and I didn't want it to wake you so I went to get it. When I saw that it was Courfeyrac, I answered it and he said – he said that the press figured out where I am."

"What?" Grantaire says. His stomach feels like it's closing in on itself. "What are you saying?"

"I didn't read any of your other texts, or your emails," Enjolras says quickly, as if that's what Grantaire cares most about right now. No, Grantaire's far more worried about the fact that apparently Enjolras can't – or won't – look at him anymore. "Courfeyrac texted a link to an article and – well, maybe it's better if you see it for yourself."

He hands over the phone, but Grantaire can't focus on the words on the screen (though the term "love nest" in the title does jump out at him) because he's too busy staring at a photo from yesterday afternoon of himself and Enjolras kissing on the rooftop.

"Shit shit shit," he says, nearly dropping the phone into the sheets. He steadies it and scrolls through the article, finding three more photographs interspersed in the text. These aren't as good as the first one – they're darker, taken well after the sun had gone down, and heavily pixelated from zooming in, but it's glaringly obvious that it's them.

He scrolls back to the picture at the top, the one that must have been taken when they first went up to the roof judging by the lighting, and stares at it dully. Grantaire feels sick with the knowledge that some photographer – or more likely, one of his own neighbours – was watching and taking pictures of them during what was supposed to be a happy, private moment when they both thought they were safe and free to enjoy each other's company.

As he skims the article a few more notifications come in, and when he clicks away from it Grantaire sees that he has 108 texts and 31 missed calls. "I'm so sorry," he says. "I never wanted this to happen, I swear. Please believe me, Enjolras."

For some reason that makes Enjolras flinch. "I know," he says after a moment. "It's not your fault."

"It is. I'm the one who suggested a picnic on the roof – how stupid could I have been?" Grantaire honestly feels like crying; he can feel the tears prickling at his eyes and he forces himself to breathe until he feels that he is be able to speak without his voice wavering. "They never would have found you if it wasn't for me."

He looks at Enjolras, wishing that he would yell or be angry or just do something other than stay quiet and refuse to look at him.

"I couldn't stay here forever," Enjolras says at last. His voice is soft but Grantaire still feels like he's been punched in the gut. "It was unreasonable to think that I'd be able to hide from them for much longer. I'm the one who should apologise for this violation of your privacy."

"You can't blame yourself for paparazzi creep shots," Grantaire says. "It's a violation of your privacy too."

Enjolras waves a hand dismissively. "A violation of privacy is nothing new to me. I'm used to this but you aren't. If you'd been kissing anyone else on that roof, you would have been left alone."

 _But I don't want to kiss anyone else,_ Grantaire wants to say, but he manages to stop himself just in time. Neither one of them seem to know what to say, and in the silence that follows Grantaire can hear the sounds of car doors slamming and voices growing steadily louder.

"Reporters," Enjolras says quietly. There's a window next to his bed and Grantaire briefly peeks through the blinds, just long enough to see that the pavement below is crowded with camera crews, all waiting for Enjolras or himself to make an appearance.

"Fuck," he says, letting the blinds fall back into place before any of the people below notice. "What do we do now?"

"I have to leave," Enjolras says, and Grantaire knew that was coming, he _knew_ it, but it still doesn't make it any easier to hear. "I can't – it's only going to get worse, the longer I stay. Most of them will follow me, I expect, but some will stay here for you and I'm sorry for that."

"You need to stop apologising for things that aren't your fault," Grantaire says. He tries to smile but it feels wobbly on his face, so he settles for getting out of bed. He puts on the same clothes from the night before, because he can't be bothered to look for anything new, and he's careful to keep his back to Enjolras as he gets dressed. "I know you probably want to get away from here as quickly as possible, so I'm just going to stay out of your way while you get ready."

He leaves Enjolras in the bed, looking bewildered as Grantaire practically sprints from the room. A few minutes later he can hear the shower going, though, and by the time Enjolras comes into the kitchen, his hair damp and curling against his neck and his red backpack in his hand, Grantaire has a pot of coffee ready and a little more control over his face.

"Want anything to eat?" His stomach feels like a stone has settled in it so he's a little relieved when Enjolras shakes his head.

"No, thank you," he says, and they sip at their coffee in silence for a few moments, not even bothering to sit down, before Enjolras speaks again. "I texted Combeferre, he's going to let us know when he's here." He places Grantaire's mobile on the table between them, and Grantaire has to fight the urge to stare at it until it rings.

He doesn't have to wait very long before the phone chirps with a new text. "Do you want me to come downstairs with you?" Grantaire says. "I mean, I don't know how that would help exactly but this kind of feels like I'm throwing you to the wolves."

Enjolras looks at him, really looks at him for the first time all morning, and smiles. It lights up his whole face and makes Grantaire's heart clench unhappily. "Thank you for offering," Enjolras says. "But that would probably just make things worse for you, and that's the last thing I want."

Grantaire shrugs. "I can handle it."

"You shouldn't have to," Enjolras replies, hitching his bag onto his shoulder. "Thank you for everything."

Grantaire's laugh sounds bitter to his own ears. "Yes, you're very welcome for ruining your life with all of those paparazzi pictures." 

"I mean it," Enjolras says, looking serious. "Thank you." He stands there for a moment, just looking at Grantaire like he wants to say something else, before leaning over and kissing him. It's the briefest of kisses, little more than a quick brush of their lips before Enjolras pulls away, but Grantaire still feels it long after Enjolras disappears through the door.

*

Grantaire waits until Enjolras is gone, until long after the shouts of the reporters' voices fade away, before he looks out of the windows again. Enjolras was right, most of them are gone, and the pavement is clear aside from what looks like one camera crew and a few other stragglers. 

He returns his attention to his laptop and goes back to reading about his and Enjolras' "secret relationship." He's so engrossed in flipping between roughly fifteen tabs of various articles that he doesn't even register the sound of a key turning in the lock until the front door swings open.

For one ridiculous moment Grantaire thinks it's Enjolras coming back. His heart leaps into his throat until he remembers that he never gave Enjolras a key and anyway, why would he come back? But then Bossuet and Joly and Musichetta tumble into the room and Grantaire grins.

"Welcome to the love nest!" he says, throwing his arms wide. "Did you know that Enjolras – and I quote – 'renounced the monarchy to be with his secret boyfriend'? That's news to me, but I suppose it just shows the kind of rubbish secret boyfriend that I am–"

"R, don't read that trash–" Joly says, but Grantaire is on a roll now.

"No, wait, I found a really good one," he says, clicking on another tab. "This one accuses me of brainwashing Enjolras with my radical ideas – which is absolutely hilarious when you think about it – and also implies that I'm the cofounder of his 'secret revolutionary society.' I wonder what Combeferre and Courfeyrac would say to that? And here's one that implies that I'm so unbelievably homosexual that I turned Enjolras gay through sheer osmosis which would be an amazing superpower to have but, excuse you, I'm bi. But mostly it's just story after story speculating about our scandalous love life which is, as you may have already guessed, greatly exaggerated. Please tell me that one of you brought something to drink?"

His friends have been watching him with what might be growing concern on their faces (Grantaire doesn't care to look too closely) but Joly reaches into his bag and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. 

"Thank fuck," Grantaire says. His face is doing that wobbly thing again, he can feel it, and Musichetta takes one look at him and is at his side in two strides.

"Oh, R," she says, throwing her arms around him and holding on tight. Grantaire can feel Joly and Bossuet join them, their arms circling around his back, and in the soft darkness of Musichetta's hair Grantaire permits a few tears to escape.

They eventually move their cuddlepile to the sofa, and Grantaire allows himself to be plied with whiskey until he stops noticing that the sofa smells like Enjolras every time he takes a breath. "It's fine, really, I was expecting this all along," he says. "I said it from the beginning. He had Stockholm syndrome."

"I don't think that's how Stockholm syndrome works," Bossuet says, sounding doubtful.

"It's the only way to explain it," Grantaire replies. "Enjolras wouldn't really want me under normal circumstances. But, you know, proximity makes the heart grow fonder–"

"I don't think that's how that saying goes, either," Joly says.

"–and I was just convenient," Grantaire continues, ticking off each item on his fingers. "Not to mention that Enjolras was confused and under a lot of stress because of the whole abdication thing, and he was stuck in my flat for days and probably feeling lonely and, I don't know, maybe he was just really grateful that I let him stay here? And so he probably thought to himself, _Why not? It's not like I have anything else to do._ "

Musichetta shoots him a look that shows just how unconvinced she is. "Enjolras doesn't strike me as the type to thank people by making out with them."

"Well, he had a weirdly uptight and repressed upbringing and I'm not sure if he was ever taught normal human emotions," Grantaire points out. "Maybe Enjolras thinks that it's the right way to say, _thanks for letting me crash here and also for feeding me and loaning me your clothes._ "

Bossuet laughs at that, but hastily covers it with a cough when Musichetta elbows him in the side.

"Or," Grantaire says, his voice going deceptively light in the way that it always does whenever he tries not to let on how upset he is about something. "Maybe once the news came out and Enjolras saw those pictures he realised that we would never work out so he decided to end it sooner rather than later?" He smiles humourlessly. "I don't blame him for being ashamed. I know I'm not exactly a great prize."

"I don't believe that's why he left," Musichetta says, shaking her head. "But if it is, I will punch Enjolras in his pretty little face. Repeatedly."

"Thanks, 'Chetta," Grantaire says, laying his head on her shoulder. "Always knew I could count on you."

"Did Enjolras say anything?" Bossuet asks.

"Just that he couldn't stay here, that the whole media scandal thing would only get worse if he went on hiding, and that most of the reporters waiting outside would follow him if he left. And then he did."

"Sounds like he was trying to protect you," Bossuet says. 

Grantaire shrugs. "Or he wanted out and found a convenient way to get well shot of me. Whatever it was, it had the same effect."

"I think," Joly says slowly, "and I know you don't want to hear this right now, R, but I think you really need to talk to Enjolras about this."

"Not a chance," Grantaire says with all the cheer he can muster. It isn't much, but it'll have to do for now. "My instinct for self-preservation has never been very strong but even I know when something is a lost cause. Lost causes, you may say, are my specialty after all. Is there any more whiskey?" 

For a moment it looks like the others might argue, like they might keep on trying to convince Grantaire to believe the impossible. But then Bossuet passes Grantaire the bottle and Joly launches into a story about some funny thing that happened at work the other day. They're quite obviously trying to cheer him up and Grantaire lets them, because the story really does make him laugh and his friends have never failed to raise his spirits. But when he eventually rests his head against Musichetta's shoulder again and falls quiet as she plays with his hair, they don't judge him for that, either.

*

When Grantaire wakes the next morning he can tell that it's late, if the sunlight creeping across the walls of his living room is any indication. He doesn't remember what time Joly and Bossuet and Musichetta left, only that they stayed with him for hours, talking and drinking and trying to distract him, and there's a blanket tucked around him now that wasn't there the night before. 

When he peeks over the edge of it he spots a couple of painkillers on the coffee table, resting on top of post-it with the words EAT ME written in Joly's handwriting. Next to the pills is a glass of water with a post-it labelled DRINK ME in Bossuet's writing stuck to the side. Grantaire contemplates them both, weighing the growing ache in his head against the knowledge that he'll have to sit up to take the pills. He's still trying to decide if it's worth the effort when his doorbell rings, and Grantaire is getting really tired of dealing with doorbells and phone calls and people in general when he first wakes up. 

He stomps over to the door and flings it open. "What?" he demands, and then nearly slams the door shut when he sees Enjolras on the other side.

" _Christ_ , Grantaire," Enjolras says, and he looks incredibly annoyed, so things must be back to normal. "Why did you open the door?"

Grantaire squints at him. "Is this one of those Groundhog Day things? Because I'm pretty sure we had this conversation already."

"What if I had been a reporter?" Enjolras says, and okay, maybe this is a new day after all.

"Then I'd tell them to fuck off," Grantaire says, going back to the sofa. His head is beating more steadily now so he downs the painkillers in one go. When he puts down the glass he sees Enjolras watching him closely from the door.

"Have you been drinking?" he asks, which is a stupid question when the empty bottle of whiskey is sitting right there on the coffee table. But the way Enjolras asks stops Grantaire from making a sarcastic reply – he sounds worried and maybe even a little sad, which is a far cry from how angry and disappointed he used to be when they were at university and Grantaire spent their first year coming to meetings drunk and picking arguments with everyone, Enjolras in particular. It's been a while since Grantaire drank to that point of excess, and longer still since Enjolras has seen him in that state, but Grantaire kind of wishes he was that hungover right now, if it would mean that his stomach wouldn't flutter just because Enjolras is showing concern for his well-being.

"I had some help from Joly and Bossuet and Musichetta," he admits, glancing away when Enjolras immediately looks relieved.

"You need rest," he says, striding over and hesitating only a moment before hauling Grantaire to his feet. 

"I'm fine," Grantaire says, but he doesn't stop Enjolras from steering him into the bedroom and settling him on the bed.

"We'll talk later," he says, tucking the blanket around Grantaire's shoulder.

"I must be more hungover than I thought," Grantaire says. "Because it looks like you're smiling a little, and you never used to smile at me when I'd been drinking."

Oddly enough, Enjolras' smile grows even more. "Later," he says again, and Grantaire gives up and closes his eyes, letting himself drift off to sleep.

*

When he wakes up again there's his only a dull ache in his head and his flat is so quiet that he's certain that Enjolras' presence was a dream. So certain that he goes straight to the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth, and it's only when he thinks it's probably a good idea to eat something that he heads into the kitchen and finds Enjolras there, sitting at the little table and hunched over Grantaire's laptop as if the past twenty-four hours hadn't happened.

"Hi," Enjolras says, and it's a relief that he sounds as uncertain as Grantaire feels. "Is it all right that I used your laptop? I was trying to keep quiet and not disturb you."

"You stayed," Grantaire says, still frozen in the doorway. "You – what are you– how long was I asleep?"

Enjolras glances at the clock. "About four hours?"

"You waited for four hours?" Grantaire rubs his eyes, trying to pry the lingering sleepiness out of them. "I was so sure I'd had some kind of weird delusional dream of you tucking me into bed, but I guess that was real, too?"

Enjolras' expression goes soft in that confusing way Grantaire still can't figure out. "I wanted to talk to you," he says. "I'll understand if you don't want to talk to me but I didn't want to leave unless I tried." He bites his lip, still looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself. "I made coffee, if you'd like?"

"Well in that case, you're more than welcome to stay," Grantaire replies, getting two mugs out of the cupboard. He catches himself thinking that it feels just like old times but he resolutely forces himself to push that thought out of his head. "Want anything to eat?" he says, pouring some cereal into a bowl.

"No, thank you," Enjolras says, and he must have amazing willpower because he appears to be waiting for Grantaire to finish eating before he says whatever he came over to say. 

Grantaire's willpower is no match for his, so he only manages a few bites of cereal before saying, "So, this thing you wanted to talk about. Is it a legal thing? Because I'll sign whatever you want me to sign. You don't have to look so worried about it. It's fine."

Enjolras looks thoroughly confused. "What would I want you to sign?"

"I don't know, something where I promise not to sell our story to the tabloids? Or promise not to disclose any information about you or else I'll be sued? I don't really know how these things work but your secrets are safe with me. Hey," Grantaire says, unable to stifle a bitter laugh, "at least there's no sex tape to worry about!"

The range of emotions that flicker over Enjolras' face is fascinating to watch. He goes from looking offended, to hurt, to unhappy, to determined, all in the span of a few seconds. "You're not Wallis Simpson to me," he says. 

"Um, okay," Grantaire says. "Thanks?"

Enjolras frowns. "That's not what I came here to say. Well, I suppose it is, in a way." He takes a breath as if to steady himself and turns back to Grantaire. "Contrary to what the newspapers would like people to believe, I didn't renounce my title because of you. You know that already; you knew that from the very beginning. However, I am falling in love with you and if you feel the same way I would like for us to be together." 

Grantaire's spoon falls to the floor with a clatter. "What?"

"Not in a secret boyfriend way," Enjolras hastens to add, apparently taking Grantaire's shock for a more negative reaction. "A proper relationship. But only if it's what you want." 

"If that's what I–" Grantaire breaks off and shakes his head to try and clear it. "Was I really that good about hiding that I've been in love with you since uni? Because I always thought I was really obnoxious and annoying about it."

"I've been told that I can be very oblivious," Enjolras admits sheepishly. "Even when it comes to my own feelings, apparently. It took me a long time to figure out what they meant, and how I felt about you. Longer than I'd like to admit, because it's very embarrassing in retrospect."

"I thought you were ashamed of me," Grantaire admits. "I thought you left because you saw the pictures and realised it was all a terrible mistake."

Enjolras looks stricken. "I am not and never have been ashamed of you," he says firmly. "I left for the exact reason I told you: because your privacy had been violated and I didn't want to make it any worse for you by staying here, especially when I knew I could make it better by leaving and inevitably taking most of those reporters with me."

Grantaire has always been prone to doubt and he doesn't think that will ever change but Enjolras' words take the worst of it away, leaving something warm and hopeful in its place. The feeling only grows when he leans over and kisses Enjolras, soft and lingering, and feels the same love that he pours into that kiss reflected back at him.

*

"Ready to dismantle the government?" Grantaire says as he fixes Enjolras' tie. It doesn't really need fixing, but he'll take any excuse to let his fingers skim the soft skin near Enjolras' throat, even if it's under the watchful eyes of the camera crew. "More than you already have, anyway."

"I'm not dismantling the government," Enjolras replies patiently, before his unnervingly calm expression suddenly shifts into a grin. "Not today, anyway. But soon."

"Oh my god, you can't say things like that. Enjolras, promise me you won't get carried away today," Grantaire says, because if Enjolras is going to talk about his future plans he needs Combeferre and Courfeyrac there to balance him and make him seem a little less terrifying.

"Don't worry, I've already been coached on how to respond if they ask about my plans," Enjolras says, though he doesn't look very happy about it. "I've promised Courfeyrac and Combeferre that I won't say anything damaging to the cause. Anyway, today's interview is supposed to focus less on the future and more on what's happened during these past few months."

"Right, today is all about your terrible, horrible, no good, very bad influence of a boyfriend," Grantaire says cheerfully, even if he's a little uneasy at the thought. And by a little uneasy he means incredibly anxious, because this is Enjolras' first official interview since he removed himself from the line of succession, and even though Grantaire knows that he can trust Enjolras to steer the conversation away from anything that's truly prying it's still worrisome to know that he'll receive even more attention after this interview than he did when the photographs leaked.

"About that," Enjolras says, and he's frowning now, which makes Grantaire even more worried. "Do I still have your permission to publicly confirm our relationship?"

"Yeah, of course," Grantaire says. "Everyone saw the pictures already, so it's not like we can hide it. Unless you wanted to?" He hates the hint of uncertainty that creeps into his voice, and hopes that Enjolras doesn't notice it.

"The opposite," Enjolras says, and something eases in Grantaire's chest. "I know this is unbelievably short notice but I wondered if you would mind being there during the interview?"

"I'll be right here," Grantaire says, indicating the mark behind the lights where he's been told he could wait during the interview.

"No, I meant over there," Enjolras says, nodding in the direction of the chairs that have been set up for himself and the interviewer. "You wouldn't even have to be on camera if you didn't want to be," he goes on in a rush. "But I'd really love to have you at my side and if you're not comfortable with that please don't feel like you have to agree-"

"Enjolras," Grantaire says, taking his hand. "I'm there." Any nerves that he felt earlier vanish entirely, replaced by the feeling that his heart is nearly overflowing with joy. Some distant part of Grantaire's mind is aware that he and Enjolras are beaming at each other, probably looking like a pair of fools, before the director says it's time. 

It's easy to step forward, then – hand in hand, into the future, together.


End file.
